


Of Gold

by kuiske



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, a ton of foreshadowing, vague references to the kinslayings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 02:43:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5610889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuiske/pseuds/kuiske
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Annatar laughed and Celebrimbor felt his joy sparkle in the air around him and settle in his chest; it resonated in the floor beneath him and in the gold of his jewellery.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted as a gift to _celebimber_ in _tolkiensecretartexchange_ on tumblr.

Celebrimbor studied the floral patterns built into the forge floor and swirled the wine in his glass, trying to distract himself from what he was about to say. The floor was built from different hues of granite instead of marble as a concession to practicality and would’ve in fact been considered very stark in an other environment. Most of the patterns he traced out only in his memory since the floor was stained black by soot despite the efforts to keep it clean. 

Still, he felt that was no reason to keep it plain. Not when he spent most of his free time in the place even when he wasn’t working. Some of his people joked in good nature that he spent too much time getting friendly with the dwarves and was starting to pick up their habits. Celebrimbor could’ve told them the truth, that feeling at home in the forge came from spending too much time with his father and grandfather. He could’ve, if he’d figured out a way to say it without having it come across as a threat.

He lifted his eyes from the floor to glance at Annatar who’d taken a pause from his work and accepted the glass of wine Celebrimbor had poured for him with a small, gracious nod. Annatar also happened to be the cause of him trying to interest himself in the floor and the swirl of wine in his own glass. No curious servants in the forge, another reason to be fond of the place. He’d rather have no witnesses to this conversation.

“Was there something on your mind, my Lord?” Annatar prompted without a trace of impatience he without doubt was feeling. 

“Yes,” Celebrimbor said, taking a deep breath. 

Somehow all diplomacy had deserted him, leaving behind only grandfather’s voice telling him to just proceed with the matter and save the subtlety for his work. Another voice pointed out the dubious wisdom of taking advice in interpersonal matters from even an imaginary projection of Fëanor. That was probably just his own good sense.

“Your help to our people has been invaluable, my dear Annatar, and if I may say so, your personal friendship with me even more so. I wondered if you’d be interested in taking the friendship a step further and not only sharing home and work with me, but my bed as well.”

Annatar blinked once, face unreadable. Then he lowered his eyes.

“I’m honoured, my Lord. But I must confess that in that aspect of life I have little experience in, and I’m not certain if in the end you’d find me suitable. Or perhaps _you_ should wish to be _my_ teacher in this?” Annatar glanced at him shyly.

Celebrimbor nearly choked on his wine. A few droplets of the fine summer vintage ran down his chin as he desperately tried to avoid spraying it all over the room. Finally he gave up on any attempts of swallowing and spat the mouthful back in his glass in the most unlordly fashion and burst out in helpless laughter, practically howling with tears in his eyes, his entire body shaking with uncontrollable amusement. _Oh Valar_. He wiped his chin clean and struggled to restrain himself enough to speak.

“ _Coy_ does _not_ suit you Annatar.”

Annatar had been observing his display of highly undignified mirth without a word, though his single elegantly arched eyebrow spoke loudly enough. 

“Fair enough,” Annatar said, dropping the expression of docile meekness. “I must say I agree with you on this.”

“ _Why_ would you even try?” Celebrimbor set his wineglass down, even more happy than he’d previously been on there not being any servants present to bear witness to him slobbering his drink back to the glass.

Annatar did not _shrug_ , but the shift of his shoulders carried the same meaning.

“I told you true that I don’t have experience in carnal pleasures, but I have been given the impression that there are those who find that, as well as demure innocence, attractive.”

“There are,” Celebrimbor conceded with distaste. “Though I never understood the appeal. It seems to me that the ones who find such displays of overt innocence and submission attractive are usually so in love with their own excellence that they can’t bear the thought of anyone around them being anything _but_ meek, since they cannot abide the thought of power in others.”

Annatar laughed.

It wasn’t even close to the paternal, ever present patient smile he wore when instructing people in gem cutting or metal alloys, nor was it the look of almost feverish enjoyment he wore when working in the forge himself. Annatar laughed and Celebrimbor felt his joy sparkle in the air around him and settle in his chest; it resonated in the floor beneath him and in the gold of his jewellery. Celebrimbor couldn’t help laughing himself, the true amusement of a _maia_ was contagious and seemed to light up the entire room.

Annatar toasted to Celebrimbor briefly.

“Indeed. And I ask that you forgive me for thinking so meanly of you, my Lord, that you would require anyone around you to make themselves less in fear of their power.”

Celebrimbor grinned wider that he’d been taught appropriate and inclined his head gracefully. 

“Truth be told, I have trouble imagining how anyone could delude themselves into thinking you’re anything less than proud of your power,” he said wryly. 

“Perhaps, if such a thing should occur, that someone would be so glad to see a proud creature humiliated that they’d never stop to consider whether it was a show for their benefit rather than true submission.” Annatar said, still smiling.

“And perhaps _that_ is why most of my kin have such trouble trusting you.”

“Perhaps, “ Annatar said, suddenly thoughtful. “I thought it would be best to hide my power as best I could to avoid frightening your people, especially since I have at times been chided by Lord Aulë for showing off, I’m ashamed to admit. But perhaps it makes sense that your people who have suffered so greatly in the hands of the enemy have a hard time of - how goes the saying? - of trusting someone hiding their teeth.” 

Annatar grinned at him almost impishly. 

“But I must confess I’m not _overly_ grieved to have been turned away by them, since it has given me the singular pleasure of getting to know you, Tyelpe.”

“Show me,” Celebrimbor said. 

There was a brief spark of mistrust at the back of his mind, a family legacy as much as the memory of sharp grey eyes smiling briefly in the warm glow of the forge and the ocean of blood spilled. 

“Pardon?”

“Show me your _teeth_ ,” Celebrimbor clarified.

Annatar stepped closer to him and laid his hand over Celebrimbor’s heart, fingers splayed open. He smiled, and for a brief moment there was a glow like that of the eldar, but it didn’t stop at that; something otherworldly was shining through Annatar’s eyes, through his skin that barely seemed enough to contain the pale golden light like the Sun on silver or golden Moon. Celebrimbor’s breath caught. This was a being that commanded for the entire world to _halt_ and _witness_ his mere existence. Celebrimbor should kneel before him, this was a being that commanded _awe_.

But there was more than simply a legacy of blood coursing through his family history, though blood there was, an ocean, an _ocean_ of blood shed. No, for better or for worse, his was the family that stood unbowed before the powers that sang the world into being and challenged them, both the light and the dark. 

Celebrimbor grinned and curled his fist in Annatar’s pale hair, tugging him closer sharp enough to hurt, had he been a creature made out of flesh.

Fire flashed deep in Annatar’s eyes and there was a sudden surge of power from him that blew the candles out and nearly stilled the heart in Celebrimbor’s chest. The pale light in Annatar didn’t disappear, it simply grew heavier and hotter and darker, and _no_ , not a light but _metal_. He was veins of molten gold running through stone that was blacker than the dark between the stars. It was terrifying and enticing and Celebrimbor nearly laughed to feel it all curling around him; this was _power_.

“ _Tyelperinquar_ ,” Annatar growled at the back of his throat.

The kiss tasted of metal, of silver and gold and the memory of blood.


End file.
